Revolution of a Turk
by LadyNightRunner
Summary: From the moment he saw them, he knew he was going to be one of them. He just had to get there first. From child to teenager to Turk. His name is Tseng.


And here we have the long-over due prequel/companion piece to Evolution of a Turk. We get a looksie at Tseng's life, from age 11 on, and get to see the very end where he comes into Reno's life. It's been on the backburner for awhile, and I have my mother to thank for giving me a reason to take it off and finish it.

You know the rules, people. Bow down and present me with gifts.

* * *

When Tseng was nine, he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. He knew he wanted to be one of the men who stood with President Shinra, the men in their dark gray suits (blue had come later). He knew that it was going to be hard. And he didn't care.

He'd been taught to fight since he could walk. Before he could throw a ball, he could throw a knife. He knew how to kill and he understood why: ShinRa and Wutai were butting heads- it was only a matter of time before there was war. If he was old enough, he would fight in it.

But what side would he fight on?

Four days after his eleventh birthday, Tseng found a flyer from the ShinRa base. It was the usual, trying to recruit more young men for SOLDIER, but there was a phone-number on the bottom, for the recruiting office.

_This is my chance_.

He tore the number from the flyer and hurried away.

Later that day, in the relative safety of a phone booth across the city, where his parents wouldn't find him, he dialed the number and waited, heart pounding, for it to pick up.

"ShinRa recruiting office."

"Hello?"

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm…I'm calling about the Turks."

"You want to be one of _them_?" The man on the other end of the line sounded shocked.

"Yes."

"You're _sure_?"

"Yes."

"Okay, kid…jeez, never thought I'd get a call like this one. They don't recruit out of this office, but I can give you the number if you're really sure about this."

"I am certain."

"Ooookay. Got something to write with?"

"Yes." He didn't, but his memory was enough.

"Alright. 1(385)018-7549. Got it? Repeat it back to me."

"1(385)018-7549."

"There you go, then. Good luck, kid. Hey, how old are you?"

"I'm eleven."

The man on the line choked on something.

"_Eleven_?"

"Yes."

"And you want to be a _Turk_?"

"Yes."

"Leviathan bless, kid, you're crazy…eleven…God…listen, if you need help getting to Midgar when you're old enough to go, gimme a call, okay? Name's Josh Maverick."

"Thank you."

"No problem, kid. Good luck."

_Click_.

Tseng put the phone back into the cradle and repeated the number to himself. When he was ready. And he'd be ready soon.

--

It took him nearly two weeks before he worked up the courage to find another phone booth and dial the number Josh had given him. He waited for three rings. Four. By the sixth, he was about to hang up when something at the other end of the line clicked and he could hear background noise.

"Hello, recruiting." The voice sounded far more professional than Josh had.

"Hi," Tseng said, suddenly tongue-tied.

"If this is a prank call, I suggest you hang up before we trace your call."

"No! This isn't…I'm not…I'm calling for information about recruiting."

"This isn't the SOLDIER office, kid."

"I know. I already called them, and they gave me this number."

"This is the Turk office."

"I know that, too. What do I have to do to get in?"

There was muffled laughter in the background. Tseng flushed. They must think he was goofing around.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen." After Josh's reaction to hearing his age, Tseng reasoned that a little older might be more plausible.

"You don't sound fifteen."

"Almost fifteen."

Just short of four years, in fact.

"And you want information on becoming a Turk."

"Yes."

"Nationality?"

"Wutain."

More laughter. From several people. They had him on speakerphone.

"Seriously, kid, this isn't funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny. I want to join."

"You have to be eighteen, or sixteen with permission from a guardian."

"Alright. What else?"

"No attachments beyond family- that means no girlfriends, no boyfriends, and no fiancés. Run a mile and a half in under twelve minutes- under ten if you're serious. Be capable of handling at least three weapons of different types; bladed, firearms, and thrown. Know a form of hand-to-hand. Have every vaccination available to civilians. Be at least five foot eight. No tattoos, no vices, and you'd better be able to take punishment, because basic training is going to be hell on earth."

"Anything else?"

"You'll take a joke a long way, won't you?"

"I'm _serious_!" Tseng complained.

"Right. Like I believe that."

"And why wouldn't you?"

"Why? You're a fourteen-year-old Wutain who claims he wants to be a Turk. We have _never_ had a Turk from Wutai. Know why? Because we protect ShinRa. No one in their right mind would be both Wutain and a supporter of ShinRa; you'd get lynched in your country and beaten in ours. Every single move you make is a contradiction."

"I want to join anyway. I'm not calling for a dare or as a joke, I swear."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Tseng waited quietly, until the man who'd answered cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Good luck."

Tseng grinned.

"Thank you."

--

The combat requirement was easy to fulfill. So was the running. They were already part of the training he took part in every day. It was in this training that he also gained experience with two of the three required weapon categories. The only real problem was the firearms. No one he knew used them. While he trained harder than ever before, he wondered where he could get a gun to practice with. After all, he was eleven years old. No one in their right mind would just hand one to him. Then it came to him. Josh, from the recruiting office.

"Hello, ShinRa recruiting office."

The person who answered wasn't Josh.

"I'm calling for Josh Maverick."

"Can I tell him who's calling?"

Tseng hadn't given Josh his name.

"Tell him it's the Turk kid."

"Turk kid?"

"I never told him my name."

Laughter. What was it with these people and laughing at him?

"I'll get him. Please hold."

There was a click, and then the beginning of some classical piece. Tseng leaned against the wall of the booth and tapped his foot, impatient.

"Hello?"

"Maverick-san?"

"You're that kid I talked to? The one who wanted to be a Turk?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's up?"

"I need to learn how to handle a gun."

Josh went quiet for a moment.

"A gun."

"Yes. The man at the office said I had to know how to fight with throwing weapons, bladed weapons, and firearms. I don't know what to do with a gun. Can you teach me?"

"Any kind of gun in particular?"

"No."

"Okay…I think I can get some time with a rifle in a couple of days…that makes a good sniper weapon, so it'd be good for a Turk. You free Thursday?"

"Yes."

He wasn't really, but he'd find a way to get out of it.

"Come out to the base at…6 o'clock Thursday morning. Go to the desk in the main office, and ask someone to tell you where I am, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll see you on Thursday, then."

"Yes."

Giddy with excitement, Tseng nearly danced on his way home.

He planned his escape with care. He was supposed to train with the other boys his age that morning, and had to have a decent excuse to get out of it. To get this excuse, he borrowed one of his little sister's toys, a little wooden wagon she used to tow other toys around in. Akemi wouldn't notice its absence for some time. The wagon was left at the head of the stairs, and he was ready.

Wednesday night, as he was heading for bed, Tseng happened to step on the wagon. Naturally, the toy rolled under his weight and Tseng went tumbling down the stairs. The end result was a knot on the back of his head as big as Akemi's fist and a fracture in his forearm. Materia was enough to fix such trivial injuries, and the healer prescribed a morning at home to recover. Perfect.

Most mornings, Tseng's father left before 5 o'clock. He went running with several of his friends, then joined in the training exercises at the dojo. Tseng's mother took Akemi to the dojo as well, because Akemi had begun learning to fight this year. Tseng was alone in the house. He scrambled out of bed, dressed hurriedly, and ran for the base.

--

Josh Maverick was an incredibly tall, surprisingly skinny man with a mess of curly blonde hair and dark eyes. He gave Tseng a critical look when he ran up, directed out to the far end of the firing range by a sleepy secretary.

"Smaller than I expected," he admitted. "But you're not smaller than the gun, so I guess it'll work. 2nd Lieutenant Josh Maverick."

"Tseng Yusikii. Thank you for doing this."

"No problem. Have you ever handled a gun before?"

Tseng shook his head.

"Okay, then we're starting with basic gun anatomy. You can't work with any gun unless you know what it's made of."

"Alright."

By ten o'clock, Tseng was being guided through the firing process on a simple bolt-action rifle. He had the idea down, now it was the execution he needed to work on. He was getting there slowly, and had potential to get better.

"I don't think sniping is going to be your thing," Josh murmured, watching Tseng practice loading the rifle. "If I can get my hands on a pistol or something similar, I'll show you that instead."

"Okay."

--

They arranged a better system, with Tseng meeting Josh after school and afternoon training, around 6 o'clock. They drilled and practiced with firearms until dark, at which point Josh would herd Tseng in the direction of home and tell him he'd see him tomorrow. Tired but pleased with himself, Tseng returned home with the excuse that he was training on his own in his free time.

--

Two years passed. Josh wasn't transferred out, much to Tseng's surprise, and they continued to train hard. As Tseng grew better with the guns, they began adding physical training to the mix- there were things Tseng hadn't been taught at home, like the virtues of heavy lifting. Under Josh's careful watch, he was introduced to the weight room.

Other men around the base began to recognize Tseng as 'that kid that follows Maverick around'. It was assumed that he was safe, since he was with an officer, and he was treated quite well. No one knew what he was training for- most assumed it was for SOLDIER.

--

As hoped, Tseng hit a growth spurt in his fourteenth year. Suddenly tall and gangly, he realized that A) the height requirement was no longer an issue, and B) he could now spar with Josh and be nearly face-level with him.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Josh asked one evening, as they traded off on the bench.

"Told them what?"

"That you're training to join the Turks?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"They'd kill me."

"I'm sure that's a bit of an exaggeration, Tseng, it's just a-"

"No, they would. We are an old, respected family. To have a child of the house of Yusikii join with ShinRa would be shaming beyond anything anyone else could ever do. They'd kill me- force me to kill myself, actually- before letting me go."

"You're _kidding_!"

"I'm not."

"Tseng, you've got almost four years left before you can go without guardian permission! You can't keep hiding this that long! You're going to get caught!"

Tseng snorted and lifted the bar off the supports. It was a silent request that Josh quit fussing and spot him. He didn't need to be worried about. Everything would be fine.

--

Trouble started when Tseng turned fifteen. That afternoon, his father led him into a small building he didn't recognize at once. Then he noticed that displays on the walls.

"What are we here for?"

"Your tattoo."

"My what?"

"It's traditional for our young men to be tattooed when they turn fifteen."

"But I don't want-"

"That doesn't matter."

A small man smiled at them from the counter.

"Ah, Yusikii-san! What can I do for you this fine day? I have new designs, if you're looking for something no one else has yet."

Daichii Yusikii shook his head.

"Today is my son's fifteenth birthday, Masaro" he said quietly.

"I see. This is him, then?"

Tseng was pushed forward and told to take his short off. He did so, turning slowly so Masaro could get a good look at him.

"His back will be best," he murmured. "The usual, then?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Come here, boy, and see what it will look like."

Tseng stepped behind the counter and got a look at the massive design that was going to be inked into his skin. It was a dragon, coiled and twisted around, jaws wide in a roar. It was green and blue, with touches of silver. Just looking at it, he knew it was going to hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt before. He looked at his father, pleading with his eyes. Daichii shook his head. Masaro took his hand.

"This way, youngster. I'll take care of you."

A week later, he broke down at his training with Josh. Right in the middle of target practice, he set the gun to the side, crumpled to the dirt floor, hands hiding his face, and screamed. Josh dropped everything and ran to him at once, couching at his side and trying to pry his hands away so he could look him in the eye.

"Tseng? Hey, kid, what's wrong?"

"It's over."

"What?"

"I said it's over! I can't join!"

"You tell your folks?"

"No!"

"Then what?"

"_This_!" He pulled his shirt off, showing Josh the massive tattoo on his back. "Turks can't have tattoos! They told me when I called!"

Josh stared at the incredible piece. The devil was in the details, that was for sure. Any better and you could have heard it roaring.

"You _wanted_ this monster?" he breathed.

"NO!"

"Then why the hell is it on there?"

"Father says it's tradition. He couldn't have his on his back because of a scar, but…when we turn fifteen, boys in my family get this tattoo done to show our pride for what family we belong to. I'd never seen it, or been told about it, but…I couldn't do anything." He sniffled miserably, fighting tears.

"Only one thing we can do, then."

"I can't get it removed."

"Nah, that wasn't what I had in mind."

"What, then?"

"You have to be the best."

Tseng look at him, caught between tears and surprise.

"What?"

"Turks have a hard time recruiting these days. They've taken guys out of the army, but not many people want to join a group that doesn't get recognition for what they do. If you're the best thing they've ever seen, I think they'll overlook something like a tattoo. We just have to work harder."

Tseng stood up, scrubbing the tears out of his eyes with a grubby fist.

"Let's do it, then."

--

He turned sixteen, the threshold for joining. By then, he was a hellishly fast six foot three inch young man with quick reflexes and an even quicker mind. He could run a four-minute mile and hit any target Josh presented him with. The tattoo had healed into a bright reminder of his drive that rippled over the muscle he was rapidly building.

Josh surprised him with a gun for his birthday. They'd made a point of not giving each other gifts, just celebrating with a meal, so when Josh pushed the box across the table in mess, Tseng stared at it for a few minutes, not quite registering.

"But- we don't-"

"This is a special occasion, kid. Open it."

He did. Inside, nestled in a bed of foam, was a sleek black pistol he'd seen in gun magazines but never dreamed he'd hold. A SIG Sauer P220. He'd worked with SIG Sauer before, but nothing like this one. Reverently, he lifted it out of the box and examined it. It was new, never-been-touched, and felt almost alive in his hand.

"Josh, you-"

"A Turk's first weapon is the gun they carry. I'm not letting some trainer give you a piece of metal with a trigger; you need a gun with a soul. And you're sixteen. Reason to celebrate, huh?"

"Thank you."

'Want to go try it out?"

Tseng grinned.

"Yes."

--

The winter after Tseng's birthday, war broke out. He skirted the edge of the fighting, waiting, praying that it would be over quickly.

His grandmother died late that October, followed by his cousin and her two children.

His aunt and uncle died in November.

His grandfather died in December, and another uncle was crippled.

Two of his cousins died in January.

His father lost an eye in February.

--

"This is gonna be our last practice, kid," Josh said one afternoon, fitting another weight on either end of the bar.

"_What_?"

"I'm getting moved back to Midgar."

"Why?"

"Good question. All I know is I that I'm on the next ship out, which leave tomorrow morning."

"But-"

"Want to come with me?"

Tseng nearly dropped the bar. Josh pulled it out of his hands and set it back in the hooks.

"Wh-"

"After your Dad lost that eye, I figured there'd be no chance of you getting permission from him. Come with me. I'll support you until you turn eighteen. Then you're covered."

"I can't- I couldn't- there's no way you could- you mean it?"

Josh laughed.

"I mean it. What do you say?"

"Yes!"

"Meet me at the beach at 4 o'clock tomorrow morning. Everything you're bringing has to fit into two duffle bags, okay?"

Tseng nodded. He was really going to do it.

--

He sorted through his belongings, deciding what was important enough to keep. By ten, he had two duffels packed and clothes laid out for the morning. He planned to slip out the back door at three, giving him plenty of time to haul the bags to the beach.

At two o'clock that morning, he got up, showered and dressed, and began to pace.

At two thirty, he carried the bags to the back door and sat in the kitchen, nervous and impatient.

At five 'til, he decided to leave.

"Where do you think you are going, Tseng?"

He froze for a moment, then turned. His father was standing in the doorway, mother close behind. Akemi clung to her mother's leg.

"I have a boat to catch," he said evenly.

"A boat?"

"Yes."

"Where to?"

"Junon."

"And why would you be going there?"

"To catch a transport to Midgar."

"I see. And why would you be in Midgar, the home of your country's enemy?"

"I'm going to train as a Turk."

Daichii's eye narrowed.

"As a _Turk_?" he hissed. "You _dare_ to destroy our family name by becoming nothing more than a hired thug?"

"A Turk isn't a thug," Tseng growled, suddenly angry that his father didn't even understand what he was trying to become. "It's a warrior on par with our own, relying on strength and intelligence to succeed, rather than Mako like a SOLDIER."

"You will not go. Give me those, and go to your room. We will discuss this after the sun has come up."

A small part of Tseng wanted to obey, but he had learned to ignore this rebellious part of him, that piece that was still afraid of his father. He was old enough to know what he wanted to do with himself.

"No," he said.

"_What_?"

"I said no. I've been training for this for a long time, father. I am not asking for your permission, or for your blessing. Just don't stop me."

"I will stop you," Daichii hissed, striding across the room to reach for Tseng's arm. Tseng batted his hand away. "You will not disgrace us in such a way."

"We disgrace ourselves by fighting with the most under handed tricks we know to make little dents in the shield ShinRa has built. They are stronger, and they have more man-power. We disgrace ourselves by clinging to threads instead of taking the warrior's path and dying with honor. We disgrace ourselves by forcing children to wear brands that tell who sired them. We disgrace ourselves by refusing to change, even when it is the only way to survive. I refuse to be a part of that any longer."

"You _dare_ to-"

"Tseng, don't do this," he mother begged. "You're just tired. This war has all of us stretched thin. Put your bags down and some sit. We'll have a cup of tea and talk this over."

"No, mother. I'm not just tired."

"They _enjoy_ killing us. Do you really want to be a part of a thing that takes pleasure in slaughter?"

"They don't enjoy it. Many of them want nothing more than to go home. They have friends and loved ones in Midgar and in other cities, people they want to return to. They have lost friends and comrades to this war as well. We frighten them. Many of them don't want to be here. They just hide it and fight on, hoping to be among the ones who return to base alive."

"Tseng, you _can't_."

"I _can_."

"You would leave us here? Who will carry on our name?"

"Leave it to Akemi. You have a child still, don't you?"

"She is not a son of the family, Tseng, you know that! She'll carry on the name of her husband."

"I don't want to get married!" Akemi whined.

"It's not my problem."

"If you go, you will no longer be a son of Leviathan," Daichii growled. "You will be an outcast, and you will never return to Wutai."

"So be it. I will not watch the world fall apart and not help reshape it."

He turned and headed out the other. As he went, he heard something whistle through the air. Without thinking, he dropped his bag, drew the pistol from the shoulder holster, and fired. A shuriken ricocheted off the bullet and shot back to the thrower, leaving a deep cut in Daichii's leg. Both of Tseng's parents stared at the gun in Tseng's hand.

"Where did you get that?"

"My sensei gave it to me."

"Takada-san would never-"

"I told you that I've been training. Did you think I was doing it alone? My sensei is in the army. This was a gift for my birthday."

"Children should not be carrying weapons."

"They can if they know how to use them," Tseng muttered, holstering the gun and picking his bags up again.

"You do not."

"I just shot a shuriken out of the air in the dark. Tell me that again when I miss. Try to keep from getting killed until the war is over, alright?"

And he left. Akemi broke away from her mother to run upstairs and lean out the window, shrieking curses at him, willing heaven and earth to move and destroy her big brother because he had made mother cry and father bleed and that was unforgivable. As Tseng trotted down the dark, quiet street, he heard his father's voice from the back yard.

"You are forbidden to _ever_ set foot in this country again! Leviathan strike you down if you do!"

The beach was swarming with men when Tseng arrived, leaving him wondering how he would ever find Josh. Then someone took a bag from his hand. He spun, and found Josh behind him, offering a pastry of some kind in his free hand.

"Breakfast," he mumbled around his own. "You get here okay?"

"My family caught me."

"And?"

"I've been disowned, disgraced, and had my little sister screaming for Leviathan to punish me for what I've done."

"No one died?"

"I shot a shuriken out of the air and it ricocheted into my father's leg. He'll live."

"All's well that ends well, then. No damage done to you, and that's what matters. Come on, let's get going."

--

There were five ships leaving that morning, moving men out to make room for the fresh troops arriving that afternoon. Tseng and Josh were on the first to depart, sharing a small cabin with two bunks and minimal furnishings.

"Sometimes I love being an officer," Josh chuckled, tossing his bags onto the lower bunk. "The grunts get to sleep in rooms of sixteen."

"How did you get me in here?"

"I told the guys that you were orphaned by the war and that I've taken you under my wing. Since it's true, in a sense, I have no trouble twisting the truth to get you a quiet place to adjust."

"Thanks. But…I think I'm ready for this. I've been waiting for it for years."

--

"I am _not_ ready for this," Tseng moaned.

"Tseng, it'll be alright."

"Shoot me. Please."

"Firearms stay empty until we land."

Tseng spared a moment to give Josh a scathing look.

"Throttle me then."

"You're being melodramatic."

"I am not. I feel like I'm going to die."

Josh sighed and patted Tseng's back.

"As much as it might feel that, I can promise that you aren't going to die. Just breathe. You'll be fine."

"You said that an hour ago, when I still knew what it was I was throwing up."

"It's just seasickness. Either you'll get used to the rocking, or we'll get to Junon. Either way, you'll survive."

Tseng gagged over the railing. They were a day out, with four to go, and the seas were relatively calm. He'd spent the last three hours nauseous, and the last hour or so throwing up over the starboard railing. He hated to think what it would be like when the water was choppy.

One day out from Junon, they hit a storm. Josh was alerted to this fact by a wildly swung foot trying to find purchase on the edge of his bunk, followed by the rest of Tseng's body in a barely controlled fall. While Josh struggled to register the situation, Tseng made a clumsy dive for the tiny bathroom connected to their room.

Josh finally realized that the cause for Tseng's sudden need to bail over the side of the bunk was the tossing of the ship. A quick peek out the tiny porthole confirmed it- they were smack in the middle of a storm.

"Tseng?"

"Now will you- _ullp_- shoot me?"

Josh slid out of bed and padded over to the bathroom door. Tseng was seated on the floor, white as a sheet.

"You look terrible."

"I feel terrible."

"I can knock you out for a few hours."

"_Please_."

One quarter of a dose of SOLDIER grade tranquilizer later, Tseng was passed out in his bunk, blissfully free of the tortures of sea sickness.

--

"Bad day?"

"Every muscle-bound idiot at that camp calls me weasel."

"You have angular features. It happens."

Tseng groaned and dropped into the nearest chair.

"Why didn't you club me over the head and send me home when I came out to the base the first time?" he asked, massaging his temples.

"Because you have what it takes and I'd hate to see that talent dead on the wrong side of a battlefield."

"I was _eleven_."

Josh snorted and popped the top off a bottle of beer.

"I've got a sixth sense. Want one?"

"I'm seventeen."

"I know. Want one?"

"You are a bad influence."

"See my last response."

Tseng sighed.

"Sure, why not?"

--

Tseng threw himself on Josh in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Josh staggered into the nearest wall- Tseng was too heavy to be doing that sort of thing, and had far too many sharp, hard angles on him anyway.

"I _passed!"_

--

"A _what_?"

"An extremist group, Mr. Yusikii. They drove the car right into the garage and set it off. I'm afraid Captain Maverick was killed."

Tseng gritted his teeth.

"Do we know what group it was?"

"Yes."

"Which was it?"

The trembling gofer told him. Tseng smiled thinly.

"And they're anti-ShinRa?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. You may go."

That evening, Tseng let himself into his apartment, taking clothes off as he headed for the shower. He stepped into the water before it warmed up and stood there, watching the water turn pink as it ran down his body and swirled around the drain. Then he smiled.

"I've got what it takes, do I?"

--

It was a craving for sweet and sour chicken that sent him down into the slums that night. Vaguely, he wondered if this was what it was like to be pregnant- waking up at an ungodly hour to realize that he wouldn't be able to sleep again until he had sweet and sour chicken. There were no places to get it above the plate, but there were all night diners under the plate that served what he needed.

The Paper Lantern had excellent food. Tseng indulged his taste buds and left happy, full, and nibbling on a fortune cookie. When he got to the slip of paper within it, he stopped beneath a flickering streetlamp and read the fortune. **Allow compassion to guide your decisions.**

He smiled. That suited Josh to a T. He still missed him terribly. It had been hard to keep going without his mentor to guide him and listen, so he had drawn into himself and focused it all on being perfect, on fulfilling Josh's dream for him. If Josh thought he had talent, then he would have talent. It made him a cold-blooded killer, a gifted strategist, and an excellent Turk. He was respected by his peers, feared by those under him, and looked upon fondly by the higher ups. Compassion wasn't on his list of behaviors.

A sound down a little alley caught his attention. Curious, he slipped over to the mouth of it and peered into the darkness. Someone was huddled in a puddle down there, rocking back and forth and muttering to themselves. Tseng shook his head and turned to go. A druggie. Sad, but-

"I'vegottodothisIcan'tbeaTurkifIcan'tdothisIhavetobeaTurkIhaveto-"

He turned an abrupt about face and marched down the alley, coming to a halt in front of a skinny bundle of limbs and shockingly red hair lying in a puddle under a drainage pipe.

"A _Turk_, you said?"

The boy- he was nineteen, maybe a year or two younger- didn't look up.

"Promised_andI'lldoitIhavetoGodhelpmepleaseithurtssobad."_

He crouched down and cupped the boy's chin, forcing him to look up. Aqua eyes glowed like a SOLDIER's. There was only one way to get eyes like those without being in the program.

"Glow withdrawal? So you can apply?"

"_AnyonehelpmeIcan'tdoitI'mgonnadieandIwon'tbeabletotryIhavetotry."_

He was too far gone to make a real attempt at responding. Tseng rolled him onto his back and looked him over. He was tall enough, and it looked like the long limbs had wiry muscle on them. He was obviously the type to hang on for all he was worth.

**Allow compassion to guide your decisions.**

"If this is your way of giving me a sign, it isn't funny," he muttered, and slipped his hands under the shivering, feverish body. "Come on, kid. Let's get you inside."


End file.
